


And Time Shall Not Diminish . . .

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:49:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When Goniff finds himself in trouble and goes on the run, two lovers, one from his shadowed past, the other from his tumultuous present, team up to keep him safe.  Well, and maybe dip in a finger or two to try and undo the damage done by a determined if misguided Major Galloway.  But what about when the current danger is over?  Not a unique situation, of course, two strong, determined females and a man they both love.  History and literature was full of such.  But these women themselves WERE unique, and that could sway the outcome.  Add into the equation the OTHER lover from Goniff's present, one equally as strong and determined a force, and things just might get complicated.  However it turned out, you could expect the unexpected; this WAS Goniff, after all.





	And Time Shall Not Diminish . . .

**Author's Note:**

> See 'Whiskey River' for Goniff's recounting of the story about him and his past lover.

A forty-eight hour leave! After a run of jobs across the Channel, enough trips in tin cans of one variety or other to have them complaining they should start carrying can openers with them, they finally had gotten a break! Someone up at HQ had finally okayed them a spot of free time and boy, oh boy, were they ready for it! Two cars, of course, since Garrison had been told to report to HQ before starting HIS leave, but the lieutenant hadn't seen any reason the others couldn't go ahead and get settled in at Hotel Marchant. He'd be headed there himself as soon as he got finished with whatever bee HQ had in their bonnet this time.

Meghada had traveled up with the guys since she had nothing planned for which she'd need a car, and besides a car trip with those four should be a hilarious counterpoint to the miserable two weeks she'd had on that last assignment. She was going to pay Kevin Richards back for THAT one! Surely he'd had other female agents better suited to the role!

"I ask you, do I LOOK like some sweet simpering little miss?" she'd exclaimed in some disgust. "All innocent looks and blonde ringlets and fluttering eyelashes! I couldn't decide on the best expression; I sure as hell couldn't use any that naturally came to mind, so I rotated between some from those more expert than I. Ended up using a little 'drowning duck ala Camille', along with some 'adoration at the feet' from your classical religious paintings, thrown in with a great deal of that sweet child from 'Le Printemps'. All for some twenty-two year old idiot who's working as his father's secretary at the War Office and gabbling to any likely female about everything that came over his desk! I swear, watching and listening to myself made me wish I'd brought some of Goniff's motion sickness herbs with me! And for what, I ask you??! Blanchard Coopersmith wasn't a knowing or willing traitor, just a young idiot who needed a few draughts of something to cool his blood! AND a ring through his tongue to remind him not to talk so bloody much!" 

Privately she'd thought a ring through ANOTHER part of his anatomy was also a very good idea, and if he'd touched her one more time, she'd been seriously considering seeing what she could arrange! 

Of course, Kevin Richards would probably have scolded, though the Major WAS getting more appreciative of the place for 'non-subtlety' in clear and efficient communications on occasion. Nothing like making the situation personal to cause a tidal shift, after all, and that nasty business with his sister Julie a couple of months ago seemed to have done that well enough. Yes, Kevin MIGHT have understood.

The joviality had lasted pretty much the whole trip, them discussing and arguing about what to include in their rounds, her listening and reading between the lines of some of their more obscure pronouncements. She fully intended to ask Goniff for clarification of the one, maybe two suggestions that she hadn't understood; she thought it should be most edifying. She was pretty sure that notion Casino had come up with could NOT have really meant what it sounded like! Even with his eclectic tastes, that was really rather out there, and while the guys had just laughed, Chief hadn't wrecked the car when he'd heard that pronouncement, so it had to be more innocuous than it appeared.

After having gotten checked in and tidied up, they all headed back out again, leaving a note for Garrison where to find them. Meghada was right alongside since they were going to have dinner together before the guys headed out for more dubious activities, headed out for a night on the town. 

Well, Meghada had her own plans, but they included a bottle of excellent bourbon, a tray of whatever goodies Henri had managed to put together, and one smirking Englishman who'd promised to be back by ten. 

"I'll lift a few with the guys, then 'ead back. And when Craig gets back, maybe we can see if 'e don't want to join us. We're in the private section, no one around to notice. Bed aint as big as yours, but I expect we'll make do," Goniff had offered with a grin. Yes, they usually did manage, one way or another, with no complaints from any of the three of them.

They'd been picked up by the MP's when they were leaving Marchant's and their loud and jubilant mood had quickly changed to thoroughly pissed off, but their protests had gone unheeded. They'd all been taken to what was being called a 'guest house', though the presence of armed guards certainly put that in question. 

They'd found Garrison already in residence, "a 'guest', I was told," he'd said ironically. He'd been taken into custody as soon as he got out of his car at HQ and brought here under heavy guard.

"Somehow, I'm not feeling all that much like a guest, Craig," Meghada had offered, prowling around the small structure - bedroom, living room, bathroom, tiny kitchen that was totally ill-equipped to provide even the essentials. Well, he could see her point; he wasn't feeling the warmth himself.

Soon a Major Galloway made his entrance, making it clear that he was in charge. He was all military, all business, very stiff upper lip, very serious, very sure of his facts. It would seem their hard-won forty-eight hour leave had been arranged not for them to have some much needed R&R, but to give Galloway a chance to take them someplace where no one would be looking for them, time to complete his own investigation and arrest. Maybe arrests, plural.

According to the Major, one of them was a traitor, stealing and transferring classified documents to enemy agents. And not out of some misguided political motivation. No, for the most mercenary of reasons - cold, hard cash. Galloway's eyes lingered over every man there, but spending the most time watching either Goniff or Garrison. 

There were protests, of course, Garrison furious at the very idea that he or any of his men would be involved in anything like that. But Galloway had proof, he said. Rock solid proof. A file containing witness testimony, details of events, documents transferred, even the amount of money involved. And just to prove it all to Lieutenant Garrison, whom he had been told would be very difficult to convince, Galloway had more. And this time, when his scornful eyes rested, and stayed, on Goniff, it was clear who he was targeting with his claims.

Waving a brown portfolio in the air, he proclaimed that he had details of other past nefarious activities of the man in question, Garrison's pickpocket, and didn't hesitate to list a few of them, leaving Goniff by turns beet red and deadly pale - indignant, then shame-faced, then sullen and resentful, then sheepish, back to indignant again. Well, it WAS a varied list crossing more than a few lines.

"If it indeed IS just the one man, Lieutenant. From what I've heard, I wouldn't be surprised if he's not the only one in your group involved. It seems like your control of your men is illusory at best! And that is if we give you yourself the benefit of the doubt!" 

The guys noted that Galloway had given Meghada a doubtful glance; he'd ignored her pretty much, her having been caught up in the dragnet mostly just because of proximity. Well, while the word was getting around that she tended to take the side of Garrison and his guys if any dispute came up, the same could be said, to some extent, of some of the other teams as well, and relatively few knew just how firmly entrenched she was with 'Team Garrison'.

That last bit from Galloway, about the others maybe being involved, that got Goniff's attention even more than the charges being leveled against him. It was one thing for his dirty laundry to be dragged out, to put him at risk, quite another to have it drag his friends down with him. 

No, he hadn't been selling secrets; yeah, probably could have figured out how to manage it, easy enough, if he'd been of a mind, but he wasn't. He was invested in this war; it was his country being bombed, people he knew being hurt.

Problem was, of course, with the Major having enough stuff that was real, at least two of those things he was gloating over, and a third had been KINDA true, though hadn't been anything like what the bloke was describing, who was going to believe he wasn't doing the rest? 

And who knew what else was in that ruddy file? The Major had said there was lots more. He figured if three out of the five or six things the Major had been spouting had at least some truth to them, the odds were good that the rest would be tilted in that direction too.

Just then a soldier came in, saying there was a call for Galloway, and the Major left, telling Garrison to think about it, he'd be back.

Goniff knew it was all about to hit the fan and time was running out. He could either sit there or make a move, and for a moment, he couldn't make up his mind which was best.

First things first though - he had to see where Garrison stood, Garrison and the guys. That was more important than most anything else, since he already knew where Meghada stood, she'd made that clear enough after that LAST bit of trouble, but his mouth was dry when he turned to look at the men he risked his life with every time they went on a mission. A quick look at each of them, anger, yes, concern, yes, but nothing of accusation in any of his teammates' faces. 

Then he stepped closer to Garrison, looking straight into those angry and frustrated green eyes, nothing of the clown or fool in his face or in his own blue eyes now, dropping all masks, if only for the moment.

"Warden, {"Craig,"}, I didn't, I swear. I wouldn't, you gotta know that," he told Garrison, feeling the tension coiled deep inside him, waiting for perhaps the most important judgment of all, feeling a deep relief at getting that grim nod and a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly before dropping away. 

Even under the dire circumstances Goniff didn't break his self-imposed discipline of not addressing the man by his given name; too much there to be revealed by just the wrong move, the wrong tone of voice. But it left a bitter taste to have to make that promise, that entreaty, and NOT call him by name. It left a bitter taste, and it hurt.

Garrison's voice was rough, "I know that, Goniff. The question is, what do they have that makes them so sure? We have to know that before we can fix this."

"Hell, the info's a fake; we all know that. We get a hold of it, take a good look, we can prove it. No sweat!" Casino insisted, the others nodding along, though Actor glanced at Goniff and seemed slightly more hesitant than the others. 

Goniff thought about slapping the tall Italian upside his head for having even that much doubt, but a quick apologetic look from Actor made him think twice. No, the man was just being cautious, most likely on behalf of the Lieutenant and the rest of them, and Goniff couldn't blame him for that. Much, anyway.

Goniff was getting over the shock, and was now warning them to stay away from the file, that it was a trap. 

"You 'eard the bloke! They'll try to bring you down too! Don't be bloody stupid! Leave the file alone; it's a trap!" 

Well, yes, it possibly, even probably, was, of course, and that was more than enough reason to tell them to stay away, but he also didn't want them ever to have a long sitdown with that damning bunch of evidence against him. If it included those few little things the Major was talking about, even the half-truths and wrong-end-of-the-stick things, who knows HOW much of his past was tucked up in there?? Letting things trickle out, bit by bit, like he'd been doing? Well, that was a hell of a lot different than having the whole basket come tumbling out all at once!

He squinted in thought, letting the other voices roll around him. So, the Major was sure he was guilty, but just maybe suspicious that the Warden and the guys MIGHT be too. So, Goniff might not be able to do anything about the first, but the second? Anyway, wasn't like Garrison would be able to do anything to prove Goniff was innocent if the Lieutenant was stuck in lockup too. And if the Lieutenant ended up in lockup, odds were Chiefy and Casino and Actor were headed back to prison, even if they weren't drawn into THIS. And maybe there WASN'T a way to prove him innocent - couldn't expect a ruddy miracle, after all; didn't mean his friends had to go down with him, did it?

No, since those bastards seemed bound and determine to think he was guilty, better to at least give them reason to think he was in it alone, that Garrison and the guys had nothing to do with it. Maybe give the Warden some space to work in. 

But just how was he to accomplish that? Well, from anything he'd ever heard, running made you look guilty as hell, and if HE ran, but the others stayed put, surely that would be enough proof, right there!

(Yes, Goniff was plenty smart, even if he elected to hide that fact much of the time. But even those who knew how intelligent he really was, none of those few could dispute the tendency for his thinking to sometimes be either overly-simplistic or wildly convoluted or so far outside the box that he misplaced the box entirely, even forgot what the bloody box looked like.)

Now, he ignored Garrison's stern demands to sit down so they could talk this over before Galloway got back, instead walking over to the silently waiting Meghada, perched there on the edge of the table.

Funny, Garrison started planning, Chief and Casino railed and threatened, Actor doubted before joining in, but her? She was just there waiting, solidly ready to back him every step of the way, no matter how it went down. Just knowing that almost made him smile in spite of everything else. He pulled her into a kiss fierce enough to leave her lips bruised and aching, then turning achingly tender. His way of saying goodbye. At least for now; hopefully, just for now. 

A quick grimace intended for a smile touched his face. "Later. One way or another." 

He touched her cheek, lingeringly, then took a fast glance at each of the guys, then he was out the door and gone before they realized what he was intending, before any of them could make a move to stop him. 

Garrison blurted out a quick, frustrated, "Goniff! God damn it!!!" and surged to his feet, but his pickpocket was already gone.

They heard the shots by the time they reached the door. Milling guards pushed them back into the room, and there was nothing they could do. The only faint spot of relief was the fuming Galloway telling them that Goniff had gotten away, "for now. But one of the men says he was hit, probably just grazed but doubt he'll go far before he's spotted. There's a bulletin out on him. And don't think to follow after him. I'll have a contingent of guards here within minutes. You and your men aren't going anywhere."

Garrison had told him, angrily, "well, we haven't gone anywhere yet, have we? And he only ran because you're refusing to listen to reason! Hell, accuse him of lifting your Aunt Matilda's gold thimble, and I might just listen, but not treason! There is no way that happened!"

By the time the guards arrived, several on the outside, one stationed inside the door, the four men had settled in, sullen, and not interested in conversation with the new arrivals. It took until Galloway's next visit for it to come to light that while there were four men in custody, there SHOULD have been four men and one woman. Just when she'd disappeared, no one seemed to know, at least among the guards, and Garrison and the guys just shrugged when asked. 

"Hell, she was here a little while ago. Sure didn't tell us she was leavin!"

Well, it had been very quiet, after all, no discussion even among them, not once she and Garrison had flashed the "listeners?" signal, only to agree, "who knows??!" response. They'd worked in the field together enough that everyone went about their business, tried to just ignore her while she puttered around, wandered from room to room, and then, somehow, was just gone.

Garrison would LIKE to have discussed it, at least given her a few words to deliver once she caught up with the blasted man, but the most important issue, who would go after their pickpocket, that had been a given. There had just been the unspoken acknowledgement that, of the two jobs to be done, he was best at doing the one here, dealing with Galloway, and she would be better suited for the one on the outside, tracking and giving Goniff whatever assistance he might need out there. And of course, if Garrison or one of the other men took that role, it would defeat part of what HAD to be Goniff's goal, removing suspicion from the men. If they nabbed her, at least she had the defense that she had no idea she wasn't free to leave. After all, as the men took some satisfaction in reminding Galloway, he hadn't said she COULDN'T.

"Didn't know you put the kid under arrest too. Maybe ya shoulda mentioned that to someone?" Casino snarked, that getting sounds of amused agreement from around the room.

The soldier standing by the door, AND the ones outside winced at the loud tirade the Major had gone through. Of course, that didn't make the redhead magically reappear. A new bulletin was put out, and the men settled down to wait.

***  
Meghada wasn't sure she was being followed, though she thought she probably was. After all, it had been amazingly easy, far TOO easy, to slip out of that guest house without being challenged. But even if she wasn't now, it was only a matter of time before someone came looking. 

Now she couldn't stop them from doing that, of course, but as far as them CONTINUING to look for her? Well, when did you stop looking for someone? Why, when you found them, of course!

So she decided to take appropriate proactive measures. An open call from a public phone in a small shop to someone she happened to know was in London right now, coached in very careful, obscure language. No whispering, of course, just a very open conversation with a friend.

"I know you probably have other things going, but I really need the company, Callista. It's been a real, pardon-my-French, pain in the posterior sort of a day, you know? You would NOT believe! I thought maybe we could get together, maybe for tea at that little tea shop on Manchester Street? I really need a few laughs after all the simply dismal things going on!"

(Pause, listening to the reply on the other end.)

"Well, of course you were the one I called! If anyone can get me out of the dumps, bind up my wounded morale, it's you. Why, only the other day I was thinking about that time with Coralee and Janie, you know, and that brought to mind all the fun we had afterwards. Remember that song you taught us, 'Jolie Blon'? Got on the family's nerves ever so, us singing it every time we were in the same room, switching around the parts every other verse. Such fun! And I remembered you saying you wanted to get together sometime, and frankly, as I said, I could use a little merriment. It's gotten a little tense around here, ever so annoying, in fact, and I thought we might have tea and I could get my mind off everything for awhile. I want to stop by Myerson's first, pick up a few things to indulge in a good read later this evening, maybe some Lewis Carroll, that's always amusing, but then maybe Doris's Tea Shop? Oh, a couple of other errands, yes, but mostly just browsing, relaxing, til I have to go back and deal with all the drudgery, of course. Though maybe it'll all straighten itself out by that time; wouldn't that be lovely?"

Hardly anyone but her cousin Cally or the others involved in that little escapade would have interpreted any of that the way it was meant, would have known what was being asked. But she remembered Cally laughing while the slightly older cousin related that very convoluted little operation she and Meghada's older sister Caeide and their cousin Jannia had pulled off - just a training exercise, to be sure, but one that had even the ones in charge shaking their heads at how well it had gone. Yes, Cally would understand, well enough, including the part about needing first aid supplies. Cally was a canny one, in so many ways.

Yes, obscure, convoluted, and possibly not necessary, but she'd been trained well. She remembered quite well Logan preaching, "even if you aren't sure you are being followed, observed, still, always err on the side of caution and assume you have eyes and ears on you from every direction." This occasion seemed to warrant it. She could hardly go tracking her missing laddie when the hounds on her heels, leading them to wherever he'd denned up.

The call ended with a promise to meet for tea in three-quarters of an hour, and she was off again. A bit of gazing in the shop windows, then a stop at Myerson's, a bookshop she liked, where she browsed both the main room and a couple of the private collection rooms, making a few purchases that were tucked into a colorful tote bag she'd also purchased. No one was going to mistake that bag - a widely grinning Cheshire Cat, just starting the disappearing process - and the bright orange cat on the lime green background really caught the eye. There was just something so apropos about the whole thing, you know? And, besides, that knowing grin reminded her of Goniff more than a little, had ever since Myerson's had started stocking the bags. If the bag had looked a bit odd with her severe cocoa brown trousers and shirt, well, that grin was worth it to her mind.

The cashier had raised one amused brow at her selection of bags; there had certainly been more elegant choices available, after all. He'd tried to encourage her to the light tan one with a screen print of Alcott, then the one with the Audubon print on a clear cream, but no, she was insistent on that garish Lewis Carroll bag. Still, with 'Myerson's Books' boldly printed along one side, it was good advertising, no matter how much of a mistake it had seemed when they'd opened the order to see just how terribly bright it was.

Then on to Doris's Tea Room for a pot of tea and a few tea cakes and some conversation with a smiling blonde in a dusty blue coat dress of a rather military style, complete with brass colored buttons, with matching blue shoulder satchel, obviously the friend she'd arranged to meet. The ladies had touched up their makeup in the Ladies Room before heading out, each to fulfill their own plans for the rest of the day.

A stop at a pharmacy for various sundries was next for the redhead with the grinning cat tote bag, taking time to nod pleasantly to various other customers while heading to the back to use their facilities. Normally she wouldn't have, most likely, but all that tea was probably catching up with her. The watcher had been a little nervous, wondering if he should check the back when she'd come out again, briskly nodding to the cashier, and was out the door.

She was on her way to her next stop, a milliner's shop where a dashing, if totally impractical little cocktail hat was displayed in the glass window, had reached the place actually, and had paused once again to study the little confection of cream and rose with touches of willow green to offset the black netting, when the plainclothes man stopped her, produced his credentials, and took her, bitterly protesting, back to the small unofficial 'guest house' where a fuming Garrison and the guys are being held. 

She made a mental note to stop back by when all this was over; her mother would find it terribly amusing to get that tooth-achingly sweet little hat as a gift. Not as practical as the Cossack whip she'd brought home the last time, but not everything had to be practical; there was a place for the totally ludicrous as well. {"Maybe she can wear it when she's teaching the youngsters how to use a rapier, or maybe a staff. Not the glaive, though; that is far too serious a weapon for such friviolity."}

The deep disappointment in Garrison's eyes when she was ushered into the guest house was something he quickly hid, but she'd seen it well enough. It had been echo'd by the other men's exclamations, but nothing damaging, just profane. 

Well, that was understandable; they'd really hoped she could reach Goniff. Now, they could only hope the little Cockney had reached a place of safety, was holed up somewhere out of sight. Well, they'd do what they could from this end; that was the best they could do unless Garrison gave them the word to try something else.

She was obviously annoyed, not interested in conversation, as she was quick to inform them, along with being tired, headachy, and a host of other things. She was especially snarly over Galloway dumping her garish tote bag out on the table, sorting through the few books and assorted other contents, including a couple of products from the pharmacy that made his eyes widen and his cheeks get a deep flush. Her snide comment about "if you really think you require those, Major, be my guest!" didn't help the man's composure any. The guys knew they weren't imagining the sheer malice in that amber-eyed gaze, and Galloway had made a hasty departure. 

Well, perhaps it hadn't all worked the way the Major had hoped, but it had been worth a try, letting her slip away and having those two men in civilian clothes follow her. He'd told them to pull her in if she hadn't made any suspicious moves within a certain time, and to hear them tell it, she hadn't done anything out of the ordinary at all. Obviously she wasn't involved with this mess, not if she had been content to spend those intervening hours shopping and having tea! So much for those outlandish rumors that were floating around HQ!

In the guest house, the conversation was all centered around how to find out what Galloway THOUGHT he had, and how to prove him wrong, but other than getting their hands on that file, which there didn't seem to be any way of doing while they were being so heavily guarded, that just didn't seem in the offing. 

Meghada took part in the conversation, but was quite adamant that they NOT do anything stupid, that waiting was the best course of action. 

"No sense us getting our necks in the wringer; if Galloway's wrong, surely it will come to light, Lieutenant." 

If that didn't quite sound like the Meghada they knew, only Chief was getting a strong suspicion that she was indeed NOT the same woman who'd left them not three hours before. Well, he always had seen her more clearly than the others, in various ways.

***  
After leaving the tea shop, blonde wig firmly in place, her dusty blue coat dress neat and tidy, matching satchel over her shoulder, that satchel laden with an assortment of helpful items her cousin had collected along the way, along with the thermos of tea and packet of sandwiches and scones Doris had discreetly slipped inside, Meghada had headed to Kristiane's Fine Jewelry. 

If any potential watcher got the impression the lady in the blue dress was looking to perhaps 'redeem' the pretty bracelet she was wearing for something a little more negotiable (quality not liking to use such a coarse word as 'pawn', and indeed the dignified jeweler waiting on her would hardly appreciate the term either), well, obviously such activities would be negotiated in the private offices and not at the front counter. 

A few quiet words and the young woman was bowed into the office, and a few minutes elapsed before the pretty blonde exited, all smiles, thanking the fawning proprietor warmly. The bracelet was conspicuous in its absence.

Blue satchel firmly in hand, blonde-haired Carlin McCabe, Clan Affiliate, made her way back home, satisfied with a good afternoon's work; she didn't have a clue what she had been doing, other than just the bare details of what was required, but the Clan didn't ask favors for amusement's sake. 

No one would likely have taken any notice of a young man in working man's clothes and cap leaving the rear of the establishment, carrying a load of boxes and carrying a canvas tool bag over his shoulder.

***  
Circling back, frustrated at the time it had taken, but knowing it had been necessary, at least the first switch, though the second might have been an over-abundance of caution, Meghada found and followed the faint blood trail. The scent was obvious to her, long after any visible traces would be lost to the soldiers making the search. 

Finally she stood in a decayed part of London, looking at a broken-windowed and mouldering building, one hosting a long abandoned set of flats. There, he was there, somewhere in there. Shifting the canvas bag more firmly into place, she headed in, watching her footing amonst the rubble littering the place, hoping the rotting stairs wouldn't disintegrate under her weight.

She'd found him in the only occupied flat, at the rear of the top floor, sprawled across the wrought iron bed with the pretty calico coverlet. He hadn't moved when she entered the room, and she didn't know if he was asleep or unconscious, and she quickly moved the side of the bed. He'd tied up the wound on his upper arm, and she was relieved to see the bleeding had stopped. If there other injuries, they weren't readily apparent.

Sitting beside him, gently pushing his hair back, she leaned down to kiss him softly on the forehead, to whisper, "come along now, love. You need to wake up; there's things to be done. Can't be sleeping the day away." 

That got just a faint muttering from him, an uneasy moving of his head, a slow frown. Well, it was something, at least. Now if he would just open his eyes.

She gradually became aware of another presence in the room, carefully fingered the knife strapped to her forearm under the loose sleeved shirt she wore, and turned toward the shadow at the side of the room.

"You love him," came the whisper in the dim light. It was not quite a question, but close enough that a response seemed advisable.

"Oh, aye, that I do," Meghada answered easily from her position beside the still figure sprawled on the coverlet, squinting to make out the faint figure silhouetted against the far wall. She found it interesting, if not particularly disconcerting, to realize she could still see the entire wall and the picture on the wall, if slightly hazy, even though the figure was standing in front of it. Well, she had a wide variety of acquaintances, some human, many not so much, and wasn't easily startled. This was hardly the time to start being missish.

"I did too, you know. Oh, not like I loved my own darling jo, but still, as much as I was able."

The figure came forward, solidified, became a very pretty young woman in her early twenties dressed in a cream cotton dress patterned with rosebuds and greenery. She stood beside the bed, frowning down in steady contemplation of the man laying there.

"He's older now. If he had stayed, he wouldn't be older. He would still be the boy he was, well, as much as he was, even then." Her voice was fretful, regretful, thoughtful.

She continued. "He was upset when I tried to get him to stay, you know. I didn't mean to upset him, truly I didn't. I just thought he didn't really understand, that it was for his own good, not just mine. I thought he was like me, walking alone in the emptiness, always meant to be alone even if he didn't want to be. I thought it would be good, the two of us sharing the emptiness, better than being alone always. But he wasn't like me, was he? He had you waiting for him." 

There was a deep sadness there, a sadness that turned to sharp reproof.

"But he's hurt. You shouldn't have let him get hurt. Maybe that's why he came here; he knew I wouldn't let anyone hurt him." 

There was a rising anger, a strong sense of protectiveness filling the air. There was a rising force, power moving things off the desk in the corner, ruffling the curtains. Meghada's red hair was starting to rise and drift in the currents. 

She was sure that someday, if Goniff ever got around to telling her about this young woman, it should be a very interesting story. Well, he probably had a truckload of interesting stories she hadn't heard yet, many of which she probably never would hear. Just how she was to defuse the current situation, though, that she wasn't sure of. A battle royale would hardly do HIM any good!

Another voice, raspy, low, broke into the rising tension. "Wasn't 'er fault. Didn't let 'er know what I was going to do, wasn't time, and the ruddy guards were just too quick on the trigger. Wasn't really expecting them to shoot, you know?" 

Goniff pushed himself upright, bracing himself on the headboard, wincing at the burn from the graze on his arm, very conscious of those two sets of eyes fixed on him so anxiously.

"'Allo, Amy Ann. It's been a long time," nodding at the young woman in the pretty dress he remembered so well. "Ei, 'Gaida, I suppose you're right pissed at me?" he looked up at the redhead, his mouth downturned, slightly apprehensive.

Maybe he should have been shocked, frightened even, to come to in a room out of his past, watching two women from his life, one past, one present, having a calm conversation. Well, maybe it wasn't headed in so calm a direction, and he should probably put a stop to that. After all, the woman from his past was a ghost, and the one from his present was a Dragon. Both strong women, though, neither likely to back down. Nothing good would come from them getting in a tussle. 

Part of him wondered if he was dreaming; it seemed likely with him waking up here with the both of them right along with him, but it didn't feel like he was, and he pushed himself to get a stronger grip on his sense of time and place.

Meghada's warm, concerned "hello, laddie; no, I'm not pissed at you," accompanied by a smile and a quick kiss to his hair, was matched with an equally warm, "hello, Rodney, sweetheart," and he swallowed hard, looking from one face to the other. No, seems neither of them were angry with him, which was more than a little comforting. Better still, neither seemed spoiling for a fight with the other any more. {"Chiefy may believe this, the others sure as 'ell won't!")

As she tended his arm with supplies Callie had brought in her blue satchel, pulled out a sandwich and scones and a thermos of tea she'd gotten at the tea shop, urging him to eat, not that he needed any urging, she listened to his story.

"Didn't intend to 'ead 'ere, not on purpose. Just running on instinct, I guess. Knew I'd be as safe 'ere as I would be anyw'ere, and figured I'd spot anyone well afore they got close. Like I said, wasn't really thinking, just running for a safe 'idey-'ole, like a fox w'en the dogs are chasing after."

Amy Ann listened, asked questions and, between them, they filled her in on the background. Any potential jealousy seemed to have disappeared in the mutual concern, and now there was only a shared purpose, a shared resolve. Meghada watched as the other woman got a calculating look in her eyes, and then as a look of amusement filtered in, though well mixed with focused malice. Somehow that look reminded Meghada a little bit of Coura, and wasn't that an interesting, even promising thought! Little sister was just the tricksiest thing, after all!

"Meghada," for they were on a first name basis by now, "describe this 'guest house', the people involved, everything you can. And your relative, the one who is there as well. You say she is a canny one?" Amy Ann ordered, and Meghada complied. Yes, Cally was canny, alright, in every sense of the word. Interestingly enough, seems Amy Ann was too.

And while Goniff, tucked back down on the pretty calico coverlet, let those pain pills Meghada had insisted he swallow send him back into a light doze, the two women sat, one to each side of him, and talked softly, discussed possibilities, and discovered they had more in common than just the man they both cared so deeply for. Indeed, each would have been glad to claim the other as sister, so akin were the ways their minds worked. The purposeful smiles on their faces were enough similar to have raised the hair on the back of the neck of any knowing observer. Kevin Richards, for one, would have known to look around for the nearest shelter for when things started exploding.

***  
He'd heard it over and over, from all four men in a variety of words, but all amounting to the same thing - "You're wrong. Goniff is not selling secrets. I know him better than that. You . . Are. . Wrong!" He discounted the three cons, figuring they'd cover for their friend just on general principles, but Garrison was just as frustratingly adamant about his man's innocence.

Major Galloway was fast losing patience with the rock-stubborn lieutenant. Finally, he decided if Garrison wouldn't listen to him, maybe seeing it all written out would make a dent in that defiant armor. He stormed out, returning with that brown portfolio fastened with a string clamp, the one he'd only waved at them earlier but not opened, and tossed it onto the table. It landed with a thud in the silent room.

Garrison stared at it, torn between reaching for it, reading it, knowing what he NEEDED to find out was in there, and just as afraid of what ELSE he would find. His need to locate the claims about Goniff being a traitor was strong; he could hardly prove them wrong if he didn't have any details of the charges. His reluctance to read the rest of it, to learn more than he wanted about his pickpocket's past was equally strong. Yet he doubted Galloway had been considerate enough to separate the issues, let him find one without the others coming into view.

He'd never pushed Goniff to reveal more than he wanted, more than he was ready to reveal, not unless it was truly necessary, and finding out things this way just felt wrong, like a violation of trust. And if the false claims were an indication of what the file contained, who knew if the rest was true or false anyway? 

If it was all as bad as Galloway was implying, how was he supposed to sit down and sort out fact from fiction? And afterwards, what was he supposed to say to Goniff, how much should he tell the man about what was in that file, how much should he ask? What they had was based on who they were now, not who they'd been, and Garrison was understandably reluctant to damage the fabric of trust they'd woven. It would have been true, of course, with any of his men, but with Goniff? Well, Goniff wasn't just one of his men, he was more, and there was so much more to lose there by making the wrong decision.

Watching Garrison's hesitation, Galloway barked, "go ahead, open it, read it. I wouldn't be surprised if every one of your men didn't have something like this waiting somewhere. Maybe not though, this is pretty rough stuff, considering. Makes you wonder what else he's gotten up to while you were in charge, while your back was turned, doesn't it? Maybe selling secrets isn't the whole of it. Go ahead, open the damned thing! Then see if you're so blasted eager to defend him!"

Garrison glanced at Meghada, and the blasted woman looked mildly interested but nothing more. He felt his jaw tighten, his fists clench. Just what the hell was the matter with her? Did none of this matter? Did Goniff not matter anymore, to her anyway? Was she just writing him off? Her, of all people . . .!

His anger at the situation was starting to bleed through, and he just wanted to shake her, but there was something in those calm, knowing light amber eyes that caught at his mind. {"Amber, light amber. But are Meghada's eyes quite that shade? I've always thought of them as gold-brown, in the amber range, yes, but . . ."}

Garrison glanced at his men, saw the studied blankness in Chief's eyes, the unspoken flicker of warning, and suddenly he realized, wanted to slap himself for not realizing before. He caught himself before he said something, did something to give it all away. 

Not Meghada. Not one of the sisters, at least he didn't think so, but that left a lot of familial possibities. He wasn't sure of why she was here, other than that Meghada had other places to be. Well, of course she did, what with Goniff out there somewhere, alone and hurt and on the run! That's what she'd headed out to do in the first place, wasn't it??!

"Oh, for heaven sakes, you don't have the guts to see what he really is?" Galloway's voice pulled Garrison's attention back to the situation at hand. Garrison felt 'Meghada' stiffen, suddenly become much more alert, though her attention seemed only partly on Garrison and Galloway, more as if she was searching the room for something felt but not seen.

A rough hand grabbed at the file, thinking to spill the contents out in front of the stubborn lieutenant. The string broke as Galloway started to untie it, almost seemed to rot away in his hands, and large splotches started to form and spread on the brown cardboard. An odd smell filtered out.

The men wrinkled their noses, looked at each other, puzzled. The file was thrust across the table towards Garrison, the Major now eager to get rid of the folder, the outside almost feeling slimy in his hands. He frowned in distaste and rubbed the palms of his hands along the side of his uniform pants. 

Garrison reluctantly opened the flap and drew out a page, only to have it fall to feathery pieces in his hand, releasing an unpleasant smell and a shower of mold spores. He frowned, looked at the Major questioningly, reached in for the rest of the sheets, only to have the whole of the lot turn to a rank and moldy mess in his hand, crumbling to nothingness. Even the folder was now a damp remnant of what it had been, damp and sodden and smelling utterly foul.

"Is this a joke?" Garrison demanded, scrubbing his blackened hands on his handerchief.

"What the hell did you do!!!!" The Major stared at the file, then at Garrison and the team.

"Me? You handed it to me, told me to open it. I did. Just what could I possibly have done with it?" 

Garrison fought back, not knowing if this was part of a trap or not. He couldn't think what that would accomplish, but then he couldn't think of anything that would explain what had just happened either. The folder had certainly looked sturdy enough when Galloway first carried it in.

Garrison and the Major snipped at each other for a few minutes more. Garrison had glanced at his team out of the corner of his eye. Nope, nothing there other than bewilderment; this wasn't their doing. 

A quick glance at Meghada, or the woman who looked like Meghada, (in actually her cousin Cally, the one who could 'smell' or maybe 'see' magic, as long as it wasn't Clan magic), now that brought up something strange. Surprise, yes, like she hadn't been expecting what had happened, but then her eyes narrowed, darting toward the far corner. Her mouth tightened and her hand hovered over the waist of her shirt; somehow Garrison just knew there was a knife or something similar in there.

And there, somehow a distortion of the air, a slight shimmer that even Garrison could detect, and then it was gone again.

'Meghada' had relaxed, even seemed to have developed a twitch, certainly not a smile, not a snicker, but something that told him if they'd been alone, no eyes on them, it would have turned to that quickly.

Now, pursing her mouth, she walked forward, wrinkled her nose in distaste. 

"Smells like graveyard moulderings, Lieutenant Garrison, don't you think? Aren't there laws against tampering with graves? Nasty game to be playing, Major Galloway. Bad enough manufacturing false evidence against an innocent man, forcing him to flee for his life, but this really is disgusting. I'm surprised at you, Major. Hardly something I'd expect from an officer and a gentleman. And even more importantly, surely, would've thought you'd be worried about getting your pretty manicure smudged, your uniform dirtied. Couldn't have that, now could we?" 

With one raised brow, and a smirk indicating both amusement and contempt, she was not being overly nice.

{"Well, whoever she is, she's obviously no more a respecter of persons or rank than Meghada,"} Garrison thought. Somehow that didn't surprise him any.

Major Galloway sputtered and threatened, but really, the file had been in his hands from the beginning. He'd even taken the papers out, glanced through them one more time before stuffing them back inside and bringing the folder down to the 'guest house'. There was really no way Garrison and his men could have tampered with them, or that infuriating female either, but just what the hell HAD happened??? He looked back at the two junior officers who had accompanied him, but they only shrugged and shook their heads helplessly. 

Well, maybe the tapes would show something. Surely they didn't know about the small camera, the recorder. A judicious viewing of those would surely reveal just how they'd managed this. Maybe one of them had sneaked out earlier, tampered with the file to make it disintegrate that way. One way or the other, he'd get to the bottom of this!

Except, he didn't. The camera showed only what was to be expected, no monkey business at all. The tapes were much the same; oh, there was a lot of profanity, a goodly amount of discussion as to the major's antecedents and habits, but no plotting except for a determined, "we'll figure it all out, guys. We know it's a pack of lies; I don't know how, but we'll prove it, make them see the truth." That was hardly incriminating. 

And the duplicate file, once it had been retrieved from its place of safekeeping (though how it had gotten shuffled all the way up to the Pennstemmon Annex, no one quite knew)? Well, the lawyer involved had taken one good look, done a little checking of the relevant parts, and had been quite brisk in his displeasure. 

"None of it matches up, Major. Didn't you check any of this before you jumped to any conclusions, took such drastic action? This witness just 'happened' to see and overhear this particular transaction; well, how that could be when that 'witness' was being arraigned for petty larceny at that very same time, I'm sure I don't know. This list of information supposedly peddled; just how was he supposed to have gotten to Oldringham to pass it off to this courier on the date stated when he, his entire team, was across the Channel on an assignment, was gone the whole week before AND after this date? Even took significant damage on that little excursion, according to his file. And the rest is much the same. Just enough to sound believable, but any first year law student doing a minimal of research would have been able to spot the obvious discrepancies!"

Well, Darian Bloomfield WAS a very good lawyer, and not a first year student, either. He had a solid reputation, a passion for the truth and a great deal of loyalty ingrained in his bones. 

It was fortunate, of course, that no one thought to inquire as to where his primary loyalty lay. What with being a Clan Affiliate, that somewhat nebulous category within Family and Friends, his family being the same for several generations, that wasn't in question, but probably not something to be brunted about openly. The same with the others in that category, scattered here and there throughout the bureaucracy, including a few court clerks and others of a helpful nature. Least said was probably for the better, at least that's what the Grandmother always said.

Galloway's protests, "well, what about the rest?" got a disgusted snort in reply.

"Well, if you were trying for character assassination, perhaps it might have some benefit, though most of this seems to be as much hearsay and supposition and rumor as the rest of what you presented there. And, frankly, that wasn't supposed to be the purpose, was it, proving that he has a history of being perhaps a rather disreputable or unsavory individual? True or not, that's hardly relevant to the matter at hand."

No, Bloomfield hadn't been favorably impressed by anything he saw in that file, but it wasn't for him to be determining how much of it was truth, certainly none of the matters not connected with the charge of selling classified secrets! And, no, he didn't intend to prattle any of it to anyone, certainly didn't intend to discuss it with the Clanswoman most closely involved. He had a good use for his head, saw no reason to give the Dragon the opportunity to remove it and hand it back to him. Knowing her, he could just see that happening too. He thought it could be quite painful; in fact thought she would make very sure it was, considering her relationship with the man in question.

And besides, he had other things on his mind. There was still the matter of what had caused Galloway to go off the deep end like that anyway, to start making accusations. There was no shared history with the Major and Garrison and his team, and while there had been a few up at HQ who just took a hissy for no real reason, this seemed far too elaborate a setup for something like that.

A little checking, and the name of Lieutenant Caleb Abramson came to light. Abramson worked closely with Galloway; it seems Abramson also worked closely with a few other people, including some with interests not aligned with the Allied endeavors. There was information just laying around, after all, and SOMEONE should benefit from it! Abramson saw no reason whatsoever that it shouldn't be him.

Still, Abramson had made a misstep or two, and certain individuals were starting to get a little too close to his sweet little information-gathering service. He had a big score coming, one he'd possibly have to disappear after snatching, but in the meantime, he needed to keep the hounds off his back. And, in his mind, that meant bundling some of his past efforts into a nice tidy little package and strapping them to someone else's back, someone to draw any searchers in a totally different direction. {"Just like setting the hounds off chasing a rabbit, keeping them off the fox's trail."}

It was at the Officers' Club, listening to the gossip and rumors and grumbles and various bits of conversation, that it hit him. Garrison and his band of miscreants! Who better to use as a stalking horse? Who, in fact, would be more likely to be up to such a scheme, information for money, than a bunch of cons and an officer some said was as bent as they were?

He'd gotten a good look at their file and regretfully set aside the notion of involving all of them; it was just too complicated. No, just one would be best. Who was most likely? Who knew the territory best? Who could theoretically move in and around London and other parts of the country without drawing undue attention to themselves? Who did he have the resources of pulling up the most dirt on?

A smile had slowly dawned as he zeroed in on the sole Englishman in the group, and he hurried to put the wheels into motion. Once he had a beautifuly manufactured sheaf of information, some probably true, some half-true, some pure fiction, he set to work at filtering in the salient points he needed to be there to mark Garrison's pickpocket as the culprit of the information-peddling scheme. 

When it was completed, he had asked for a meeting with a friend in Security, hesitantly put part of it, just enough to entice, in front of him. 

"I know it's not my territory, but I came across some things that just didn't seem to fit. Or maybe they fit too well. Can you take a look? There's more, but I don't want to ruin anyone's character if I'm just jumping to the wrong conclusions." 

Oh, the sweet pious hypocrisy! It was all he could do not to laugh when his friend issued his ever so sincere assurances that, no, it was nothing of the sort, simply a man's duty!

Well, he DID know how to run a scam; in his own way, he was as much of a professional as any of Garrison's men. He was aware of that, but terribly proud that, unlike THEM, HE had never been caught!

That friend had read, became greatly interested, requested whatever else Abramson had or could come up with, and so it went. When the file was 'complete', Abramson suggested Galloway might be the man to take it to. Well, he'd worked with Galloway, knew the major would leap at the chance for uncovering such a scheme, a chance to, as he put it, "clean out the dustbins and trashheaps that keep cluttering up HQ".

Now, after that stunning denouncement from the lawyer, Major Galloway had been indignantly disbelieving when the entire batch of evidence against Abramson was set on his desk, but with the supporting evidence, including the red-faced testimony of that friend in Security, detailing how he was pulled in and manipulated, there was nothing for it but to call for a full investigation. 

Somehow, catching Abramson at the train station in civilian clothes, a bag full of money and classified papers clutched in his hand, ticket to Scotland in his pocket along with two sets of false identity documents, firmed matters up somewhat, and soon the call went out that the charges had been re-issued, but this time against Abramson, and Goniff was in the clear.

And so the charges were dropped, just in time for Goniff to join the rest of the team on a little jaunt to Norway, where one of Garrison's masterful plans went up in smoke, and Actor got a broken nose, and Chief ended up in the bed of a gorgeous brunette, and Casino lost his temper and clocked the kid, and . . . Well, that's a story for another day.

And besides, this story was not quite over.

***

A Year After The War Was Over -

The real estate agent was really uneasy about this whole thing. Yes, it was some easy money, if the deal went through. But frankly the odds of that happening had to be in the negative numbers! Had the prospective buyers gotten a good look at this place??! The building had no windows left unbroken, many not even showing glass had ever been there. Trash littered the surrounding courtyard. True, it had survived better than the heaps of rubble surrounding it, but the place was probably a deathtrap. He hadn't had the nerve to do more than just stick his head through the doorway himself.

"Well, they'll most likely bulldoze the whole place anyway," he muttered to himself as he waited for the potential buyer to arrive. 

Still, there had been something insistent about that question, "and the building's still intact, right? And the rights free and clear? What about the property surrounding it? How much of that is available for a clear title purchase?" 

It was like they might intend to try and renovate the one building left standing, and that didn't make any sense to him; probably cost a mint and still be unstable and not pass inspection. Still, once the sale went through, if it did, that wouldn't be his problem.

They arrived, driving carefully through the litter, two men, one woman, parking at the far edge where the street ended. Edward Lemons picked his way over to greet them, shook hands, stood with them while they silently looked over the building.

Then one of the two men, the taller blond with the green eyes, turned dubious eyes to the other man, the woman. "And you're sure about this?" he asked. 

Lemons could see the sale sliding downhill.

He was surprised to hear a raspy chuckle from the other man. "Oh, sure enough. Come along, take a look, Craig."

The smaller blond led the way, the others close behind. Lemons started to follow but the woman shook her head. 

"No, there's no need for you to come. We want to wander a bit. You just stay here, have a smoke. We'll be back."

Well, considering the condition of that building, Lemons wasn't all that sure that they would be; damned pile might just collapse under them. He was getting more and more nervous as he caught glimpses of them at various windows, going higher and higher, til they were on the top floor. 

He waited and waited, becoming more and more uneasy, wondering if he should fetch Emergency Services or someone, wondering if he would lose his license for bringing anyone to this derelict building.

***  
Craig Garrison was more than a little uneasy himself as they made their way up the stairs to the top level. Sometimes he really wondered at what he let Goniff and Meghada get him into! Well, at least this time they left the rest of the guys at home, Goniff saying having too many along might not work so well. 

"Not that I don't think they'd relish the meeting, but not all at once, not at first. Might make her uncomfortable, you know."

Well, Garrison might not necessarily understand that, but he didn't figure it was any stranger than him picking his way through rubbish to meet a ghost and explain his family and the Clan's high-blown plans to her.

***  
It had started when Goniff had come back from a solitary trip to London, bringing back stories of "strangers prowling around and that ruddy sign at the side. Went looking to the papers, and it's all there, them thinking to sell the whole place, make way for new construction. W'at the ruddy 'ell is gonna 'appen then??!"

He'd been very upset, not loud, but fretting and pacing, worried frown not leaving his face til Meghada got back from the village. Garrison didn't understand half of the conversation, Cockney cant coming out full force and the subject matter rather escaping him as well, but it was obvious Meghada shared Goniff's concern.

"And w'at 'appens to 'er, w'en it all comes tumbling down? Will she just disappear, peaceful-like, 'ead off w'ere maybe she would 'ave before if she 'adn't decided to stay on? Or will she go tumbling down, get caught in all the trash under the machines? Just w'at 'APPENS to 'er, 'Gaida??!" 

Garrison watched as Meghada got her own worried frown on her face, and did the only sensible thing he could do under the circumstances, which was pour them all a good stiff drink. The other guys had come drifting in, caught the general idea of the conversation, and they had their own concerned looks, but nothing like the increasingly frantic one on his pickpocket's face.

"Let's see how far the project has gotten, laddie. We need to keep our wits about us. And no, I don't know what will happen to Amy Ann, and I worry too, you know," she soothed him, as she reached for the telephone, along with a pad and pencil. 

Garrison saw the startled, but knowing looks shared between the other three guys at the mention of that name, and realized they knew more than he did about the situation. Well, that wouldn't have been all that hard, since he knew damn all!

Chief listened briefly, then headed to the stove to make coffee. A quick word had Casino pulling out tins of sweet and savory baking from the pantry, Actor getting out saucers and the rest. Meghada had them trained well - serious discussions about serious subjects required sustenance!

Garrison shook his head at all the silent activity. {"It's like THEY know what's going on, or at least some of it. Well, maybe sooner or later they'll brief me,"} knowing this wasn't the time to be asking questions of Meghada, who was busy on the phone, and certainly not of Goniff, who was busy picking at the fringe of the napkin in his hand. 

That napkin had been reduced to more fringe than cloth by the time Meghada finally hung up the phone for good. There had been several calls, one right after the other, her face going from apprehensive to annoyed, to calmly businesslike, back to annoyed, then to earnestly convincing, then to something approaching a hopeful calm. 

Whatever the story was, Garrison figured it was a good one, and was glad he'd left the bottle on the table, no matter how incongruous it looked surrounded by the pastries and cream pitcher and . . . Well, no, to think of it, in this household, it wasn't all that incongruous, not really.

So he listened while Meghada reported back. "The property is in line for renovation, yes. It's all open to bid, both ownership of property, the clearing contract, and final usage. From what I can find out, there's none so eager, not just yet, and the price has just been dropped quite a bit, not that it was overly much to begin with. The two who have presented Letters of Interest don't have anything concrete to offer, just considering it on speculation. And one is looking for huge concessions by the city, and the other wants a Buy-Back Clause, if it turns out there is more structural damage to the sub-structure in that area. The first the city lawyers MIGHT go with, though they're not in such a hurry to get the matter settled, since they have plenty else on their plates. The last, they'd be fools to agree to, of course, what with the bombing and all."

She stopped to pick up a savory scone - bacon, and hot peppers, bits of dried tomato, with cheddar cheese dotted here and there - and spread it with the herbed cream cheese. 

"And Shjean says the Clan is prepared to back us, if we want to take a look. He'll take my description, based on what I've seen, what Goniff remembers, and see if those taking that Architecture class can make anything feasible out of it and the space around. That last call, I let those in charge up in London know there's another potential buyer possibly interested; that we'd be taking a closer look. There's no immediate deadline, so there's no equipment headed in there in the meantime. Amy Ann should be safe for now."

Garrison looked around the table - Goniff finally sighing a deep sigh of relief, the men nodding calmly, accepting of what they'd just heard. He took another bite of the cherry turnover he'd been playing with, deciding that unexpected touch of lemon rind really WAS a pleasant addition, and finally gave way to his curiosity.

"So, is anyone going to explain all this to me, or am I just supposed to pretend I know what the heck you're talking about?" he finally asked.

Well, he got the answer, first the story of a sixteen year old Goniff exploring that old abandoned set of flats and discovering Amy Ann Collins, what there had been between them and why he'd left; then the story of just what HAD happened to that file of incriminating evidence against Goniff. Oh, not incriminating as to the charges Galloway was wanting to bring, since those were fabricated from whole cloth, but an array of other dirty laundry Goniff had not been all that eager to share.

He listened, finished the pastry, sipped the last of his coffee, all without asking any questions, without saying a word, really. He looked at Goniff, wide-eyed and hopeful of his understanding. Then at Meghada, her lips quirking in amusement as she watched him try to make sense, force himself to believe all they'd told him. Turned to look at the men at the table - their expressions were rueful, understanding of his delimma, but also acknowledging that, yes, that really WAS the truth. Well, as much of it as THEY understood.

Finally, he sighed heavily, reached for the bottle and poured out a round, sipping at his glass a time or two before finally speaking.

"So, what? We, or maybe the Clan, are to buy a derelict apartment house, maybe the immediate area around it, to protect 'Amy Ann' from being destroyed, or at least disturbed? I'd ask someone to pinch me to make sure I'm really awake and not just having a really odd dream, but I know you'd all take me up on that."

Meghada laughed as Goniff nodded eagerly, him pleased that Garrison seemed to understand the situation so well. Well, sometimes Craig seemed to have a mental block about some things, and Goniff knew it took awhile for the ex-officer to come to grips on those occasions. HE put it down to Craig's upbringing and those ruddy parents of his, and the military training probably hadn't helped a lot either.

Meghada expanded on her explanation. "Yes, Craig, that's the idea. IF we can make it work, and Shjean seems to think it might be possible. If not, he will appeal to the Grandmother to see if there is any way to possibly, well, RELOCATE Amy Ann. Maybe here; I mean, at least she KNOWS us - well, Goniff certainly, and she and I have met and seemed to do quite well together. And it's not like we don't have room."

Garrison's eyes widened. Somehow he wasn't any too happy about that idea; as comfortable as his pickpocket and their Dragon seemed to be with this Amy Ann, HE wasn't so eager to wake in the middle of the night to find her perched on the end of their bed. And from what he gathered about Goniff's relationship with her, maybe even IN . . . 

No, he would NOT let his mind go there! It was already stretched to the limits! He heard Meghada chuckle, caught that totally wicked look, and just KNEW she knew what he was thinking, and flushed deeply in response. Perhaps she'd just thrown that in as a possibility to make him more open to the 'renovation' idea, but with Meghada, as with Goniff, sometimes he just wasn't sure.

He settled for pouring himself another cup of coffee, making the solemn pronouncement, "and there was a time when my life seemed so simple, so uncomplicated" getting laughter from everyone there, and a knowing grin from Goniff. 

Well, there had been a time when that had been HIS goal, a simple and uncomplicated life, before he figured out that wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Now he just had to smugly say, "simple and uncomplicated aint got as much going for it as you might think, Craig. Seems you'd miss out on a lot of real interesting things with 'simple and uncomplicated'."

Craig Garrison looked around at his wild card cons, his pickpocket and his Dragon, and had to acknowledge that was probably true. Hell, it WAS true, and no, he didn't really want 'simple and uncomplicated', not if it meant giving up the family he'd found. Even if the solution to THIS problem meant having Amy Ann take up residence in the spare bedroom.

***  
The real estate agent who had helped to broker that deal looked around in amazement, shaking his head at the sight. It had taken time, almost two years, but this was a transformation as stunning in its scope as if a magician had waved a magic wand. He'd tried to get a look at various times as the work was being done, but the place had been guarded and well shielded from view and he'd been disappointed in his efforts.

When the barricades had finally come down, when the streets reopened, he and his wife and teenage son had been in the country, so it had been two months later when he got his first look. He'd stopped just inside the brick pillars, complete with polished brass sign, iron gates pushed back against the brick enclosing wall, stunned at what lay before him.

Now, instead of a derelict set of flats surrounded by rubble, there was what the travel people called a 'Speciality Shopping Square'. The clean swept park, complete with small trees and green grass and flower beds and walkways and benches to take a rest on, surrounded the bright and sparkling centerpiece of 'Collins Place', what had been that old set of flats, now home to various shops and private residence flats. It was an almost unbelievable contrast to the piles of rubble that had been there previously.

The old building in the center had not been demolished, which would have made more sense, but had been rehabbed, new facing making it look much like it might have looked when first built, old-fashioned in design, but in a way that was pleasingly nostalgic, not depressingly outdated, the brick clean and mellowly glowing in the sunshine. Windows reflected the sun, many displaying the myriad of goods and wares available for purchase, others on the top levels showing draperies or curtains as the occupants preferred. He couldn't quite see, but he had the feeling there was even a rooftop garden, shielded by black iron decorative fencing that matched the small balconies that appeared here and there on those top two floors.

He glanced down at the brochure in his hand. Specialty cookware in one shop, fabrics and trims in another. A dressmaker, a milliner with fancy hats displayed in the window. A small artists' gallery. A new branch of Myerson's, one of the local bookstores; a music store, 'Davinelli's Legacy', with not just instruments but tons of sheet music and records and such. A bakery at one corner that made you almost faint with the aromas drifting out, complete with little chairs and tables that bid you sit and take your ease, the middle space being reserved for a quiet tea room, and on the other corner of the building, a small restaurant that was getting so popular you could hardly even get reservations. 

There were other shops that he would have to browse through to get an idea of what they offered, but he expected those would be equally enticing. There was nothing here of a low or cheap nature; this was quality, start to finish, yet nothing that seemed to cater only to the toffs. He had a feeling this place was open to a wide variety of visitors; he wasn't sure how that was going to work, but he couldn't gainsay them, not from the looks of things and the happy expressions on those wandering here and there.

One shop, the only one on the ground floor, specialized in clothing and other items designed for those suffering various disabilities; he had visited that one himself, finding an array of things he would find himself describing to his wife as being "just like they were thinking of Robbie, Edith! I'll take you back there. I know he's not comfortable as it is, and the place seems to know just what is needed, and I really think they have the knack. They produce to order, to measurement, you know. Well, one of the owners is in a wheeled chair herself, so I think that might be the key to them understanding so well."

There was an elevator now, in addition to stairs, so even the infirm or elderly or one on crutches or in a wheeled chair might be tempted to visit and browse the shops on the upper levels. All the entrances were made wide enough, floors smoothly joining each other, and the aisles in the shops as well, making it all wonderfully airy and welcoming.

There were apartments above, though he'd only gotten a walk-through to one of the vacant ones on the next-to-the-top level. The rest were already occupied, and that one due to be so by week's end. Bright, open and cheery, he wouldn't have minded living there himself; even told the smiling woman who shown him around that if there was ever a vacancy, something with two bedrooms, he'd be most interested. She'd been friendly and polite, but not hopeful. 

He got the feeling that there was no dearth of those lining up for the very same opportunity, and indeed that was the case. Residence here was limited to Family and Friends, whether as a full-time home or for a more occasional need. Once those gates were closed at the end of business hours, this was strictly a private place, wards firmly in place to keep it so.

He'd asked about the top floor, knowing there was one above where he was standing, and that tantilizing rooftop as well, but the elevator and stairs seemed to stop on THIS floor. He was told the level above was placed for apartments as well. 

"All long-term leased, and that area is exclusive, including the rooftop garden, not open to be viewed, I'm afraid," she'd smilingly refused his request for a tour. "Guests by invitation of the residents only, with their own private access. No, the names are not made public, or posted anywhere."

He'd wondered, but shrugged. It was a matter of curiosity only. He expected whoever held those exclusive flats above were paying a goodly penny for them, though, with that kind of privacy.

Meanwhile, while Mr. Lemons was enjoying his tour, in the rear flat above, a laughing Amy Ann sat on the couch, hearing the wonderous stories being told her by Daniel and Davina, two young relatives of her sweet Rodney and his family. They'd already had a light tea, and she reminded herself to wipe the sweet cream off Daniel's cheek after the storytelling, before she shoo'd them back to their family, temporarily staying in that flat at the far end of the hall. 

While she had no NEED for food or drink, they'd all discovered that she indeed could partake and even relish it on occasion, and once the family discovered her secret weakness for cream puffs and custard tarts, scarcely a visit went by without her guests bringing out a bag or box for the sharing. And now, there was always a tin of licorice lozenges on the side table, another weakness she was encouraged to indulge in.

"And then Lucita, that's one of Luri's daughters, threw him SOOOOO far, and he landed with the greatest thump! Guess next time he visits and someone tells him to stay away from the war horses he'll listen!" the small boy pronounced with a wide grin. 

The little girl, maybe a year younger, laughed. "Cousin Meghada, the Dragon, she trained Luri herself, and Luri seems to have trained each of her daughters along the same lines! Did Goniff ever tell you the story about how the Dragon first came by Luri? It was like this," only to be interupted by Daniel's quick, "but we need to tell her about Medara ru Dragan, the Red Duchess, and how she found HER warhorse, first. It makes more sense that way," and so she heard about one warhorse, then another, as well as the two Clanswomen who found and trained each of them.

Amy Ann listened, not believing how her life had changed. Here she was, hearing wondrous tales, eating custard tarts, receiving visitors who seemed to enjoy being here, seemed to like her as much as if she were still breathing. Well, even when she HAD been, it hadn't been anything like this!

And when she was alone, for there wasn't a constant stream in and out, of course, there were others she could drift about and see and listen to, and no one seemed to mind her doing that, even making a comment or entering into a conversation if she felt the impulse. 

And with the electricity laid on, there was music from a phonograph and the radio, and with the lights she could read all the lovely books she wanted, and work amusing puzzles that had been given to her, and do stitching, if she wanted, even in the middle of the night, for time of day had little meaning for her.

And there were shops and places downstairs to wander as well, at least after the public had departed, and somehow she was able to pace along the walks in the park and sit in the sunshine on one of the benches, and in the moonlight in the gardens above, and, oh, SO MUCH MORE!

Yes, it had been somewhat of a disappointment to find she was unable to exchange that pretty dress of hers for something different. It had always been one of her favorites, true, but after close to ninety or a hundred years, she would have liked at least one change-off. But they'd found she COULD add to it, and so she now had pretty shawls and lace collars and cuffs and hair clips and ribbons and a variety of other things to make her smile.

And perhaps the best of times? When Rodney came to visit her. Sometimes he came alone, and there was shared sweetness that made her feel like a young girl again, and sometimes she would catch a flicker in his eyes that let her know that the boy she once knew was still there as well, along with the man he'd grown to be. 

Her love for him did not diminish, not even after the passage of time, even though he had others he loved now as well, ones who loved him also. Well, she now truly had others that SHE loved also, and in so many different ways. 

Sometimes Rodney's Meghada and their Craig came, as well, and their warmth and acceptance reached out and enfolded her. At first it was on Rodney's behalf, but anymore it was equally on her own, and that made her smile. Sometimes she thought it was because, while she loved Rodney, it was more 'Rodney the boy', while for them, it was the man they loved and cherished. Whatever the reason, there was no hint of jealousy on either side. In fact, she'd never had a brother or sister, but she thought that was much what it would have felt like. And their son, their Randy, HE called her 'Aunt Amy Ann', and she laughted with delight every time she heard that from him.

And her Rodney's brothers? Oh, they visited as well, and she was always pleased to find them at her door. Actor would talk to her of art and music and would bring books to share with her. Chief was quieter, but with him she could discuss things of the heart and spirit that she was a little shy of discussing with too many. Casino teased her into a game of dice or cards, sometimes even flirted with her. Sometimes she even flirted back, sometimes even hinting at more, though always in jest, but thoroughly enjoying that slightly panicked look of 'oh, shit, what do I do now?' that came over him when she did. No, Casino was not one who would be comfortable with partaking of any more intimate pleasures with her. It would seem she was just a little too much even for what Meghada referred to as his 'eclectic tastes'. 

Well, not everyone thought that way. Now there was Alan, one of Meghada's Clan. The War had been harsh for him, and although he laughed often, and rejoiced in each new day he was given, it was no secret that those days were numbered. Alan was visiting more and more often, and their hours together were sweet, almost as it had been with her first love, one lost so long ago. Alan was the first she'd taken to her bed since Rodney, and like the rest of his family, her being slightly less than corporeal didn't seem to be a matter of any real importance to him. Well, no more were the scars he bore of any importance to her; they did not affect the man, the person he truly was, after all. She truly LIKED that person, could see her spending her days and nights with him. Odd, perhaps, that he had dark hair and eyes when both of her other lovers had been quite fair. Odd, also, that now, when she dreamed, the lover who came to her in her dreams was also dark, and spoke with an accent straight from the Highlands. Or, perhaps not so odd.

Soon she would broach the subject, see if, when his time came close, he would still prefer to step directly from this life onto that 'Wheel' the family spoke of, or would perhaps wish to linger with her here for some time. Sometimes she would catch a look in his eyes that made her think he just might like to stay, and that was a goodly thought. After all, even Rodney and his loves would eventually leave her for their own turn on the 'Wheel', though they swore she would not be forgotten or forsaken by the Clan even when that happened. Yes, perhaps she would ask Alan if he would perhaps like to bide with her awhile, perhaps until Fate cast them both onto that 'Wheel'.

She would not insist, not force the issue, not as she'd so mistakenly tried with Rodney so long ago. No, now she knew. Where there had been her darling jo, her first love, then Rodney, now Alan, there might be others who would come to her bringing love and warmth. She would be well content if Alan decided to stay, but if he chose to leave for his next turn on the Wheel, then so be it. She would wait patiently, content with the companionship the Clan brought to her, and someday, there would be one who would decide to stay.

In the meantime, Meghada's sister Caeide was due for a visit, with her loves and their babes. Custard tarts had been promised, along with some pastry their kitchen was becoming known for, something with honey and lemon and nuts - she thought she might like that almost as much as the custard tarts. And Peter was to show her some magic tricks, and Andrew was to bring her a jack-in-the-box he had made, and some sweet smelling perfume. Ah!! She smiled in eager anticipation.

And she found herself unknowingly echoing Craig when the three had left after that first visit, when Goniff had been told by an amused Garrison, "you know, Goniff, you have the most interesting friends." 

Well, that's what she'd just finished telling herself, with great satisfaction. "Rodney, sweetheart, you have just the most interesting friends and family. And probably the nicest too!"


End file.
